


T-Swift Knows What is Up

by cryingfanaticse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hella, M/M, One Shot, i have no fucking clue, otpprompts, t swift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingfanaticse/pseuds/cryingfanaticse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you could see<br/>That I'm the one<br/>Who understands you.<br/>Been here all along.<br/>So, why can't you see—<br/>You belong with me,<br/>You belong with me?<br/>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	T-Swift Knows What is Up

**Author's Note:**

> wow. I. Hm.  
> PROMPT from that otprompts tumblr : Imagine your OTP+ realizing their entire romance is one big Taylor Swift song.

Sherlock hears the song on the way back from a funny little case about a missing kitten that had run off after swallowing a flashdrive containing a few documents that would not have done well to be let out to the public. It had been easy to solve (cat hair, cat hair everywhere), but the chase had been a mix of the ridiculous and exilerating. The places kittens could go when released to all of London... But it was never mind now. At Sherlock's flagging of a taxi, John had promptly got in and sat like a wilted flower in an attempt of a nap and Sherlock had chosen to exercise his mind.  
Alas, when the scenarios had begun to become silly (kitten stuck in london eye? chase through the big ben clock gears? god forbid one of those open pet stores), Sherlock gave it up with a frustrated huff. Too silly. There was a grumbling noise from the side of the cab John was on and Sherlock had an instant to process it (he's going to fa-) before a dishwater haired head was falling against his lower shoulder. John snuffled and Sherlock had the bizarre thought of him as a puppy cuddling into a nook as John pressed once, twice, then stopped, apparently asleep.  
It left a warm feeling bubbling in his abdomen and a half crooked smile on his face. Moments like these made Sherlock appreciate this one facet of John's girlfriends. A tired John and a well placed Sherlock meant more of these warm feelings and John-puppy similes. They were small moments and inbetween, but treasured.  
He had noticed the music the cab driver had been playing before (country, a niche taste in the UK, but nonetheless a taste), but hadn't paid attention to the lyrics until now. The twang and obviously auto corrected voice had made him twinge (he didn't like auto-correct; you couldn't read a person who didn't have nuances in their voice) and his hands itch for a violin to drown out the noise. The cab driver was exuberant in his music, and with a sharp eye, Sherlock identified 5 reasons why calling out his music was a bad idea. Namely, being thrown out of the cab would wake John, and a John startled from sleeping on his best-friends shoulder meant a John that would purposely keep his distance for at least a week. Sherlock had learned to make John wakeful moments look more like they were John's idea, or at least, extricate himself from the position before said waking moments. A tense Sherlock also usually meant a woken John, and with deep breathes, Sherlock made himself relax. Then, he listened.

"You're on the phone with your girlfriend—she's upset,  
She's going off about something that you said  
'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do."

Abruptly Sherlock's mind is racing back to last Wednesday, John talking pleadingly on the phone while Sherlock sat sprawled in his armchair. John had said something (deleted. irrelevant, most likely war time related) and Pauline, thinking it a cry for help, had taken him to a surprise counseling session. John had left that one. 

"I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night.  
I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like.  
And she'll never know your story like I do."

Jeanette and the violin, and yes, she may have had a general taste in the classicals and not in Sherlock's screeched and tired bow violin duo, but Sherlock didn't like, and though he didn't care to investigate thoroughly why (borrring), he wanted her out. It had worked. After John's tired protests, Sherlock had tamed his violin, and it sang.

"But she wears short skirts  
I wear t-shirts  
She's cheer captain  
And I'm on the bleachers  
Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find  
That what you're looking for has been here the whole time."

Sherlock frowned. He wore dressing gowns. And sheets. And clothes at times. What clothing had to do with this girl's plight, he didn't know, but the last two lines made the feeling in his abdomen warm again. He glanced down at John. What if he awoke? What if he awoke and then kissed Sherlock, done with the string of girlfriends and sad drug store flowers, so that all that.... attention, would go straight to Sherlock. Yes. That would be perfect. 

"If you could see  
That I'm the one  
Who understands you.  
Been here all along.  
So, why can't you see—  
You belong with me,  
You belong with me?"

Sherlock curled his lip at the chorus, fighting his foots want to step to the beat. John breathed peacefully at his side. 

"Walk in the streets with you in your worn out jeans  
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be.  
Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself,  
"Hey, isn't this easy?"

And you've got a smile  
That can light up this whole town.  
I haven't seen it in awhile  
Since she brought you down."

John smiled with Sherlock the most. It was a statistical fact. He counted them and stored them, and the plastic ones for witnesses and crying children or horribly non funny girlfriends were not counted. Sherlock was the receiver of 84% of John's brilliant smiles and bore the secret medal proudly.

The last strains of the song faded, Baker street a minute away. Sherlock thought, sparing a glance at John and stuck staring, what if? He knew what he wanted (John) but he also found a very convincing theorum that said John did not want Sherlock (wanted girlfriends, wife, kids). But John stayed with Sherlock.  
The cab was slowing, Baker street fast approaching, and Sherlock looked down at John, nudging him to get up and then fuck, they were kissing. John had startled like deer, moving forward and Sherlock's head was craned down. Sherlock expected a bump of noses, but then John pushed forward instead of back and damn.

John pulled back, looked startled and pleased and delightfully rumpled. "Sherlock, why didn't you say?"

Sherlock only grinned and moved forward for another lip meeting, the horrible strains of a song running in loop in some chamber of his mind palace.

"OI, YOU TWO. PAY AND GET OUT." said the cab driver, annoyed with the noisy sounds interrupting his T-Swift album.


End file.
